


Hold My Hand

by silver_blacker



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 05:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7702966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_blacker/pseuds/silver_blacker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bit of power dynamics between Sansa, Cersei, and Petyr. No real plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold My Hand

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this two years ago and I might as well publish it now as it was just sitting in my computer not doing anything.

Sansa looks up at the starry sky as she slowly breathes in the warm air of King's Landing. They say there is a winter coming, long and harsh that will wipe out half the population of Westeros. But tonight the winds are gentle, grazing her skin softly like silk. The moon is hung high up against a cloak of midnight blue that stretches across the whole of the Red Keep as far as her eyes could see. The night is peaceful, with not a single being to disrupt its serenity. 

Sansa has found herself visiting the godswood more often these days, sitting on a boulder, listening to the sound of birds chirping in the trees accompanied by the rustling of leaves in the background. If she closes her eyes, she could almost pretend she is in the godswoods back at home surrounded by old sentinels and ironwoods, enjoying the company of her father as he cleans the family sword beside the ponds underneath the weirdwood. The heart tree in Winterfell as she remembers has a long face carved onto it as deathly pale as a ghost's, its two red-dyed eyes staring back at those who pass by, as if it is judging their every thought. Sansa has always thought of the weirwood to be unsettling. Trees with eyes and blood red leaves seem to be creatures from nightmares, not divine gods worshiped since ancient times. But the Red Keep has no weirwood. Its heart tree is a great oak covered in vines, its heavy branches reaching towards both the earth and sky. On its trunk is another face carved on its dull brown bark, perhaps less frightening than when on a dry shade of white and without the eerie red eyes, but still the same as disturbing. 

Sansa tends to loiter in an open space of the grove where she could feel the warmth of the sun on her skin and avoid the sight of the heart tree. It is said the old gods only have power where the heart tree faces could see, and if that is true, and that the old gods are real, she would not want to be seen by them. She comes here for the quietness and the temporary feeling of familiarity, not to receive even more judgement. 

Sansa has been sitting for so long her legs feel stiff. She stands up and moves to the edge of the wood. She mindlessly strolls along the wall, her fingertips brushing against the roughness of the red bricks as she walks. Just outside this wall and sixty feet below is the Blackwater Rush, infamous for its strong and unforgiving current. Being so close to the edge she can hear the swift river water flowing downstream into the sea. She tilts her head backward and looks up at the wall. Her neck starts to hurt but she can barely see the top. She wonders how high it is. Forty feet? Fifty? She cannot tell. But if someone is to throw themselves into the river from there then they will surely--

Silly. 

Sansa tightens her hands into a fist and storms away from the brick wall as she reprimands herself. This is not what the descendant of one of the greatest houses should behave like. Starks are noble warriors, fearless even in the face of danger posed by wildlings and wild creatures from north of the Wall. It has always been like that since the ages of the First Men. For as long as she would bear her father's noble name, she shall walk this earth with dignity. 

"There you are, m'lady." Sansa freezes when the voice creeps up in front of her. But she recomposes herself when she sees it is her handmaiden Elsa who puffs out those words while panting, seemingly at the stage of exhaustion. "Please don't--" The girl is interrupted by her own rapid coughing. Her whole body trembles like a thin stick in a blizzard as she coughs. Sansa watches her with boredom and impatience. The girl eventually simmers down and looks back up at Sansa with her young brown eyes. "Please don't run off like this again, m'lady. I have been searching for you since supper. We could not afford anything to happen to you, not when your big day is tomorrow. Are you hungry, m'lady?"

Tomorrow.

Sansa presses her lips together when reminded of the event that is about to happen. Suddenly overwhelmed by sadness, Sansa turns and looks away, her gaze fixed on the leaves and stone covered ground. There is an ache in her chest that is about to burst. But she holds it in. 

"M'lady?" Elsa asks, her voice shaking in uncertainty and nervousness. 

"No," Sansa lifts up her head and declares proudly as she shakes her troublesome thoughts away. "I am not hungry." She pauses. "A bit cold, perhaps. The air here is rather chilly."

A sign of relief flushes over the young girl, who looks glad to have heard that. 

"Let's go back into the castle then, m'lady." 

What Sansa said about the coldness is not true, of course. The southern summer has proven to be too hot for a northerner like her, which is one of the reasons why she chooses to have her stroll in the godswood at night, when the last wave of heat emitted by the sun has disappeared from the surface of the land. It is the optimal temperature for her. But she could no longer bare the sight of the poor girl in front of her who is shivering like she is in the mid of winter. 

She will be one of the first to die when the great winter comes, Sansa sadly thinks, the poor always do.

"Sure." Sansa smiles at her handmaiden, taking on the lead back into the heart of Cersei Lannister's lair. 

*************** 

Sansa watches as the first ray of the morning light shines through her window, creating a soft glow on her pillow. She turns in her sheet and shies away from the light source, her heart beating rapidly in her chest like it was the end of the world. 

Maybe it is.

Sansa has been awake for a couple of hours now. She has had the most unsettling dream in her sleep. She cannot remember the content of it, but she knows it was horrid enough that it woke her up in the middle of the night and left her breathless with cold sweat on her back. After that, as much as she has tried, she could not go back to sleep. Her heart has been racing since then, putting her in a tired but restless state. Perhaps her body is preparing itself for whatever terrible things that could happen later today. But she avoids thinking about it. 

Sansa curls up and covers her entire self with her blanket. She knows her handmaiden will show up at her door at any time, now that the sun has dimly lit up King's Landing. Sansa wants to hold on to these last remaining seconds of complete solitude and enjoy it. Gods know she needs some moments of quietness. 

Under her blanket she feels safe, and that eases her heart. She wants to cry and scream, and nuzzles against her mother's arms. But she has long lost the privilege of being a little girl and doing all the things little girls could do. She is a woman now, and needs to do her duties as one. 

As dreadful as she has imagined it, someone is knocking on her door.

On any other day, Sansa would have gladly gotten up from her bed and opened the door herself, like any highborn lady ought to do. But for once, she continues hiding under her sheet, with her eyes squeezed shut, as if the longer she could avoid starting the day, the more likely she could put off the whole event of things that follow. 

The knocking continues, and Sansa clutches onto her blanket even tighter. 

Of course, the door is eventually opened.

"M'lady?"

Sansa ignores it. 

She could hear the girl walking in and closing the door. She places something on the ground that sounds heavy, and walks up to her side, her sandals scratching against the stone floor. 

"M'lady," Elsa gently puts a hand on Sansa's body and shakes. "Are you not feeling well?"

The inevitable is after all, inevitable.

"I am well." She lies and sits up, rubbing her eyes. Her arms feel sore. "Is it time already?"

Her handmaiden smiles sweetly. "No, m'lady. But you will need to get ready soon. I have prepared some hot water for your bath. Would you like to take it now?"

Sansa's gaze darts towards the two pots now placed near the door, and instantly pities the girl for having to climbs all the stairs while carrying such heavy things. 

"Did... someone help you with the carrying or did you do that all by yourself?" Sansa asks, and gets off the bed. Her feet feel cold against the stone. 

"No, m'lady. But worry not. I have been doing it since I was seven. I have grown accustomed to the weight." 

Sansa looks back at Elsa, and notes that her back is slightly bent from all the heavy lifting. So young, only at the age of... How old is she actually? After all this time Sansa realises she has never asked. Does it make her a bad person? She suppresses the awful feeling in her stomach and slowly walks towards the tub at the corner of her room, where her bookcase once stood. The tub is a special gift deliberately sent to her, to make sure she is at her best on her special day. She would normally fancy the idea of having a private tub in her own room. But today, she feels discouraged about everything.

Elsa begins pouring water into the tub as Sansa's fingers trail along the tub, the edge made smooth by some handy carpenter. The tub is made of wood. It smells fresh and has the colour of chestnut, but she cannot tell what kind of wood it is. 

"All done, m'lady. Would you like me to help you undress?" Elsa puts down the empty pots and reaches out a hand at Sansa. 

Sansa shakes her head. 

"No." She drops her gaze and watches as the steam rises into the air. Tears are forming in her eyes, and there is a lump in her throat that is suffocating her. "That will be all." She could barely say the words without her voice shaking.

Unwilling to let her handmaiden see her in such a helpless stage, Sansa turns and holds her back against the girl.

As if she senses something, Elsa takes the cue and leaves without a word.

After hearing the closing creak of the door, Sansa strips off her nightgown, her movement clumsy and slow. She steps inside the tub rather mindlessly and sits down with her knees bent in front of her, submerging herself in the water with only her head above the water level. The water is hot. The heat is burning every inch of her skin, sending a painful and tingling sensation, but her face maintains blank as she stares at the wall. The pain is good. It makes her feel alive at least, and not just a walking corpse that is filled with nothing but sadness and despair. Sansa closes her eyes, as a single drop of tear slides down her cheek.

Sansa stays in the tub until the water has cooled down and her back starts to hurt from her rigid sitting position. Soon after she finishes drying herself, Elsa walks in with gowns in her hands. 

"Look at these, m'lady. These are some of the most beautiful dresses I have seen!" Elsa says as she lays each down on Sansa's bed, her voice sounding too excited to be genuine. 

Sansa walks up to inspect all three of them, and agrees these are indeed some very beautiful dresses with all their pretty colours: silver, sky blue, and turquoise. She becomes, even only a little, happier as she runs her fingers through the blue dress, feeling the softness of the fabric beneath her palm. She has seen her mother wearing a dress as radiant as this on Robb's tenth name day. She remembers sitting beside her sister, gazing up at her mother's gown, completely bewitched by the blueness of it, until she got distracted when Arya decided to start throwing meatloaf at her. The recollection brings a light smile onto her face, as she continues to dwell on one of the many wonderful experiences she had as a child. 

"Would my lady like to try this on?" Elsa asks, and picks up the silver dress.

Sansa would prefer wearing the blue dress first. But nonetheless, she nods.

Elsa takes a step back and admires her after she has put on the dress. "My lady is absolutely stunning!" The servant girl whispers in awe. 

"Do I?" Sansa smiles and twirls, leaving silver sparks in the air. She looks at herself in the mirror. The dress is so beautiful she looks like a princess in it. She squeezes a smile and almost forgot about the dreadfulness she has felt earlier, almost.

"---in the ceremony." 

Lost in thoughts, Sansa has missed what Elsa was saying to her. 

"Pardon?" 

"This dress here is a present from the queen regent. It is to be worn in the ceremony." Elsa says. "This is such a fine piece of clothing. How very fortunate of you, my lady.

Sansa looks back into the mirror. Perhaps knowing who the sender is has left a bad taste in her mouth. 

"The dress looks stunning, yes, but that defies the purpose of wearing it. Clothes are supposed to bring out the beauty of their owners, not to outshine them." Sansa spits out those words with so much hatred as if Cersei Lannister was standing here herself, although she doubt she would be foolish or brave enough to actually say them if the scenario presented itself. She stares at her own reflection. Her face has turned pale, like a ghost is wearing it, and her expression is lacking. She waves at the two remaining dresses on her bed. "What about them, also a gift from her grace?" 

"N--No, m'lady." Elsa seems a bit taken aback by Sansa's little outrage there. "The two dresses were hung outside on a rack outside of your chamber. I thought-- I thought you knew about them."

"No, I didn't." Sansa says, "This sounds very strange." 

"I went to fetch the gift from her grace and when I came back they were already there."

"Tell me, Elsa, did you see--"

The door creaks open, scaring both the girls as they all jump in surprise. 

"Your grace!" Sansa bows quickly when the queen regent and a Lannister guard show up in her chamber, her voice trembling ever so slightly. "We were not expecting your presence." 

"How absent-minded of you, Lady Sansa." Cersei Lannister smiles a dubious smile, which widens when she sees Elsa is besides Sansa looking scared like a mouse. "Leave us." The queen orders, and Elsa quickly exits the chamber, shooting a nervous glance at the tall Lannister guard standing beside the door before closing it behind her in a click. 

Sansa then realises how much she wishes not to be alone in the same room with Cersei Lannister and one of her loyal knights. Although the man has been still at the corner of the room like a silent statue and has yet to make a move, Sansa is certain one word from Cersei is enough to send him dashing towards her with a sword in his hand ready to cause some damage. She hates the fact that Cersei has the power to make her even more helpless, just when she thought her situation could not get any more desperate. 

"Why," Cersei then says, standing gracefully in front of Sansa. "It is the biggest day of your young and inexperienced life, how could I not personally come and congratulate you?" 

"Your grace is too kind." 

"Ah, I see that you are wearing your wedding present. I had it newly made and delivered from Casterly Rock just for this occasion. The material that made this dress was dug out from some old dusty chest in a store room, one that was probably rodent infested. But look how beautiful the dress is!" 

Sansa's skin crawled at the mentioning of rodent. She tries to convince herself that Cersei was bluffing, that it was merely a lie designed to humiliate her. The last thing she wants to do on her wedding day would be noticing that sickening triumphant grin on Cersei's face as she recites her vows... among other things else. Nonetheless, her skin starts to itch as the disgusting image of rats nibbling on her dress invades her mind. It has taken her great strength to remind herself that she is a lady and must not scream or tear her clothes off.

"How... How lovely. I am deeply honored." Sansa smiles sweetly and bows another bow, her hands besides her balling into fists with her nails digging into her palms. 

"Not nearly as honorable as it will be after you have become Lady Sansa Baelish. Littlefinger, what an admirable man. He came from nothing and look where he is now: a brothel owner and the lord of a castle, Harrenhal that is. But nonetheless, it is still a large castle for such a small man." Cersei chuckles at her own japes, dimples forming on her cheeks. Sansa freezes the smile on her face, wishing she could be anywhere but here, as the insult continues. "It's a shame that no one from your family could attend the wedding, considering their... status. But oh imagine how proud your parents would be: Your father would be thrilled to hear his brother's old rival is soon becoming his son-in-law; Oh and especially your mother. She would be pleased knowing you are marrying her childhood friend, her dearest Littlefinger whom she has grown up with and treated like a little brother!" 

"Not all of us here wants more from a brother-sister relationship than it already is, your grace." Sansa murmurs under her breath. 

Sansa could sense the shift in the air just as she realises what she has done. A very bold move, she thinks to herself, too bold. She wants to curl up and tremble but she would not dare to even move a muscle. The queen's smile has already died down and her green eyes are staring into Sansa's with an apparent anger, her bows furrowed together. Sansa's jaw clenched up when she sees that the knight clad in a crimson cloak has turned his head around and is looking at Sansa through the thin slit of his helmet. But just before the panic could completely set in, slowly, the lioness opens her mouth and speaks.

"I would suggest you watch you mouth, Sansa my dear," Cersei sneers with her hands crossed in front of her and paces around the chamber, a scent of red wine mixed with perfume following her movements. She lifts up an empty goblet and inspects it. Without shifting her gaze away from the goblet she says, her voice soft but her tone intimidating, "It would be ill luck if, say, the bride disappeared on her wedding day." She casts the cup down and grins at Sansa.

Sansa's heart was about to jump out of her chest when a man's voice is heard outside the room accompanied by a gentle knock on wood. "Was I interrupting something?" Both the queen and Sansa look back at the doorway. Cersei raises her voice and tells the visitor to enter, despite the clear annoyance marked on her face. Then they both witness as the door swings open and Littlefinger glides into the room. "I was just wondering why a handmaiden is standing outside with the most anxious look on her face," He remarks as he smiles at Sansa, then greets the queen as if he has just seen her. "Your grace, you are looking lovely as ever." 

"Lord Baelish." Cersei says coldly, her scorching eyes now pinned on the small man. 

"And of course, Lady Sansa." Baelish steps towards Sansa, and before she could react, lifts up her hand and lands a light kiss on her knuckles. 

"L--Lord Baelish." Sansa's face reddens at the brief intimacy, and she knows he has noticed it too, as he is now smiling again, his eyes staring. For some reason, she feels even more uncomfortable under his gaze than Cersei's. 

"I shall leave you two alone." Cersei abruptly announces her departure, her words quiet, almost close to a mumble. Sansa cannot tell if the woman is displeased with something. "I am looking forward to the ceremony," She nods at Sansa. "Today you will learn both the pain and joy of becoming a woman." She walks to the door, which the guard has already opened for her, then stops, turns her neck around and looks at Sansa with a light smile on her face, one that is almost... kind. Her lips part slightly as if she has something else to say to the nervous girl. But swiftly she turns away and disappeared behind the closing door.

The room is quiet again. Sansa could hear her own uneven breathing, the rhythm disrupted by the self-awareness that Lord Baelish is watching her intently. He is looking at her, his face blank with no signs that tell what is in his mind. There is something mesmerising in the older man's eyes, something that makes Sansa feel vulnerable. She wants to look away, to hide from his gaze, but she refuses to. She hates that feeling of weakness. But then, the longer they both stare at each other without talking, the more she wishes to hide away. Then, as strangely as it may sound, the man begins chuckling.

"I must say, Sansa," Petyr Baelish states, "I didn't know what I was thinking when I entered the room." Expecting him to elaborate, Sansa does not say anything. Littlefinger's smile fades away as he gives her an odd look, then he continues, "It was the strangest sight on earth, you and Cersei glaring into each other's eyes, or more like she into yours as you were looking as white as fresh snow." 

Sansa has a feeling that he is teasing her, but she is not quite certain about it, as the man looks so formal when he is not smiling. 

"You are awfully quiet, Sansa." Baelish says, sounding concerned when she does not respond. "Is something at wrong?" 

"No, my lord." Sansa quickly smiles, "Why would I be on this joyous day?"

"Please," Baelish says, frowning, "Tell me what is at wrong or I cannot help you."

"Well, her grace made a comment regarding the wedding dress." She mutters.

"What of it?" 

"She mentioned... Perhaps she mentioned something about..." 

"Do tell, please."

"Rats. She said the cloth of the dress was retrieved from a room filled with rats in Casterly Rock." Sansa's ears flush red, realising what a childish thing this is to worry about.

Petyr Baelish widens his eyes and stares at her for a short moment, then laughs. He has the laughter of a young man. 

"You will soon learn that you must not take Cersei's Lannister too seriously," He grins at her, wrinkles forming at his eyes as he watches her in amusement. "Sometimes I think even she does not take herself seriously. The cloth that made this dress..." His hand skims over the waistline of the garment. "It is old, yes, but it also used to be a wedding dress which was a gift from Prince Gawen Gardener to a young unnamed maiden of House Lannister. He was to wed her, so as to form a stronger bond between the two great houses, and the maiden was to wear the most magnificent wedding dress on the day of the ceremony. But of course, the prince rode along with both the Gardener and Lannister armies to war against Aegon the Conqueror, and never came back. House Gardener went extinct after the war, and so I presume being seen as a reminder of ill luck, the wedding dress was reduced to cloth, locked away in a dungeon to rot away in time. Then Cersei Lannister had her men sewed it back together just for you. If she knew how precious this dress is, she would not have given it away to anyone." 

He stops, and waits for a reaction. But Sansa feels skeptical as it seems highly improbable that Petyr Baelish would have known so much about an ancient wedding dress. Does all this trivial information not sound a bit too... detailed? The thought of him lying to her crosses her mind.

"Sansa, speak to me." Baelish says softly, looking at her from under his lashes. "I need to know how you are feeling."

"I'm fine, my lord." Sansa smiles weakly. She has decided that concerns of hers should not be concerns of his. "Really, I'm fine."

Once again that odd look appears on his face. 

"I understand that you are nervous, Sansa. Is there anything I could do to make you feel more at ease?" Baelish moves forward, one hand reaching out as if to touch her shoulder. Instinctively she cowers. Although her movement may be small, she knows he has noticed it, as he has taken a small step back, his arms by his sides. She feels guilty for flinching. "As much as I would like to tell you that you don't have to do anything you don't want to, I can't." He smiles apologetically. "This is a planned marriage, so I am not going to pretend to think that you are too thrilled about this arrangement. But I will try my best to make my bride happy." He extends his arm again, then lifts up her chin with two fingers. She almost shivers at the contact, but she does not flinch away. A ghost of a smile creeps up his lips. He then unhurriedly leans forward, until his face is inches away from hers and she could feel his breath on her skin. "There are things that you must do to fulfill your duty, to be at your own wedding and to say your vows when appropriate, for example. But there are also things that I will not make you do if you are not completely willing." He cups her jaw, parts his lips then pulls her face towards him, meaning to kiss her mouth. Sansa, feeling the blood rushing in her head, panics and shifts her head away slightly from him. Something dark flashes in his eyes and he halts. A second later he leans forward and leaves a soft peck on her cheek.

He moves away and begins straightening his doublet while with one hand fixes the silver pin on his collar. He lets out a sigh.

"Listen," He says, with a hint of irritation in his voice. "I will try my best to make you happy. But are you willing to try to be happy as well, Sansa?" 

She blinks.

"Yes."

"Good." He smiles again, then turns around to make way for the door. He stops when he spots the gowns laying on her bed. "I hope you have found these to your liking, Sansa." He pauses. "I think they make your eyes shine." 

"Did you send them?" Sansa holds in a gasp of surprise.

"Why, yes." Lord Baelish says, his hand now on the latch of the door. "Consider them a wedding present, or part of a wedding present. I will give you the rest tonight." He opens the door and looks back at Sansa, his eyes now glinting in mischief. "I shall see you later at the ceremony, my lady." Then without another word he exited the room.

Sansa slouches on the bed, feeling drained. Elsa re-enters the room and looks at her worriedly.

"I'm fine." Sansa mechanically says, her gaze locked on a particular spot on the ground. "Really, I'm fine."

There is a long day ahead.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you everyone that commented! Each of your comment served as a great motivation for me to go back to writing, as I have been on a hiatus for an awfully long time. 
> 
> Sadly, I'm not planning on writing anymore for Hold My Hand. It started off with an image in my head of Sansa walking in a garden alone at night and contemplating. I just thought it was a beautiful scenario and wanted to write something about it. I'm currently working on a 10 chapters creepshipping fic which I won't post until all 10 chapters are done. Knowing me, that could very well be in 10 years time!


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